GOD’S 

AND OTHER 

BIRD 

POEMS 

CHARLES BALLARD 













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GOD’S BIRD 

AND OTHER POEMS 

BY 

CHARLES BALLARD 



BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 










Copyright, 1924, by Richard G. Badger 


All Rights Reserved 


“PS350-5 

, A55G3G:<S 

IU4 



The author wishes to thank the editors of the 
following periodicals for permission to include in 
this volume several poems originally appearing in 
their pages: Musical Advance, Judge, The Spur, 
The American Poetry Magazine, The English 
Journal. 


Made in the United States of America 


The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 


©C1A793232 



* 






To Agnes 


CONTENTS 


God's Bird.13 

Peace Came Suddenly.17 

The Answer.18 

Purgatory.19 

Fugue.20 

Tears Are Always in My Heart .... 22 

Dies Ilia.23 

Fog.24 

Joy.25 

Afterthought.26 

The Last Secret.27 

Fear Not.28 

In the Chancel.29 

The Valley.31 

Elijah on Mount Horeb.32 

The Temple.33 

A Star ..34 

The Prophet.35 

Sunset.36 

Elegy.37 

The Swimmer. 38 

The Unnamed.39 


5 























6 


Contents 


Lone Sailor.40 

Passing.43 

Sycamore.44 

The Miracle.45 

God’s Light.46 

To a Very Small Bird.47 

To a Hermit Thrush.48 

Lullaby.49 

A Garden Spider.50 

The Brook Laughed.51 

Sea-Shells.52 

Bronx River.53 

Winter Sorcery.54 

Weather Forecast.55 

Falling Snow.56 

Autumn.57 

Wonders.58 

Gardening.59 

Sunset in July.60 

To a Bird on a Cliff.61 

Blossoms.62 

Lazy Cloud.63 

Grackles at Twilight.64 

Three Preludes of Chopin.66 

























Contents 


7 


Bach .68 

Overture to Othello.69 

Overture to Macbeth.70 

Filagree.71 

Opal .72 

Freemasonry.73 

The Psalm of Fido.74 

Requiem.75 

The Leash.76 

A Dream.77 

To My Little Dead Dog ..78 

To a Young Airedale.79 

A Prayer for Birds and Beasts .... 80 

In the Canine Cemetery at Hartsdale . . 81 

A Dog in a Crate.82 

Snow Burial.83 

To My Niece.84 

To William Beebe.85 

To Christopher Morley.86 

Orange Pekoe.88 

Little Footsteps.89 

Dolls .90 

Pictures.91 

The Magic Casement.92 























8 


Contents 


Coins.93 

Cinderella.94 

The Thread Unbroken.95 

In Passing.96 

Wonderful Moments. 97 

The Flier.99 

Galatea.100 

Time.101 

Aviator Triumphans.102 

The Prayer.103 

On Stony Man Mountain.104 

Humoresque.105 

Godspeed.107 

To A. J. M.108 

The Last Dandelion.109 

The Eroica Symphony of Beethoven . .110 

To S. E. J., at Her Passing. Ill 

To a Boy Singing in Church.112 

















A CKNO WLEDGEMENTS 


To a little river, 

To a sycamore tree, 

To a mocking-bird, 

To a trumpet, to a singing oboe, 
To three little brown-eyed dogs, 
To a dandelion in my path, 

To a swinging spider, 

To a silversmith, 

To a host of other friends, 
From a grateful heart 
Thanks! 


\ 


GOD’S BIRD 


Jamestown, Virginia, 16 O 8 

On Easter Even at sunset the poet walketh 
abroad, with grief in his heart. 

Tis not a twelvemonth since the day 
Our good ship crossed the sea. 

But ah! how many souls have passed 
From that gallant company! 

My joy hath entered the cold tomb, 

And left me with grief alone; 

And there hath come no Shining One 
To roll away the stone. 

He pauseth under a thorn tree, and meditateth 
sadly in his heart, as the wind maketh a harp 
of the branches. 

Here at this tree of cruel thorns 
That wove our Lord his crown, 

To muse upon my dark despair 
I fain would sit me down. 


13 


On a sudden he heareth in the air—notes of faery 
flutes and hautboys. 

What sounds are in the air, 

Low, sweet and clear— 

Music too fine and rare 
For mortal ear? 

He raiseth his head to listen; and soon all the lit- 
the fowls of the air seem to call from above in 
a flood of joyous song. 

What myriad merry birds 
Now join the choir, 

Low murmuring at first, 

Then fuller, higher, 

As when the woodland wakes 
At the sun’s fire! 

Then cometh merry bubbling of rivulets and cas¬ 
cades, blended with the silver ringing of dulci¬ 
mers, until Heaven and Earth resound with 
harmony. 

Now waterfalls and brooklets 
And April rain 

Bring back my peace, and banish 
My bitter pain. 


14 


He looketh eagerly about, then upward. 

With growing joy I gaze about 
On every hand, 

In hope to see, though mortal, 

This elfin band. 

And behold, but one little singing bird! 

Lo! on a branch above me, 

The thorns among, 

One bird of sober plumage 
Poureth out song. 

Now sorrow passeth from his heart; and he re- 
joiceth as he thinketh of the glad bells of 
Easter Morn. 

Now thanks be to our Lord on high 
And to his Mother mild, 

Who heard my prayer and sent this bird 
To their grief-stricken child! 

For surely, in God's good time, sorrow and sigh¬ 
ing shall flee away; and in their place shall 
reign sweet peace and abounding joy. 

They will not leave us comfortless, 

Nor long in woe forlorn, 

But still will banish darkest night 
With light of blessed morn! 

15 


As the shadows deepen the music ceaseth; hut still 
in his heart it ringeth on; 

Now, as the shadows gather round, 

The heavenly bird is gone; 

But in my soul forevermore 
He singeth clearly on. 

And he goeth on his way , blessing in his heart 
the little gray bird . 

With comfort now I take my staff 
And go my homeward way. 

Blessing the woodland chorister, 

God’s little bird in gray. 


16 


PEACE CAME SUDDENLY 


After long anguish peace came suddenly, 

Yet softly, 

Like a bird note in March, 

Like sleep to a sobbing child, 

Like cool, white moonflowers opening in the dusk, 
At the close of a burning day. 


17 


THE ANSWER 


Heart-sick and weary, I sent a cry 
into the darkness. 

Heaven’s high door opened, 
and an angel came lightly down, 

And stood beside my bed. 

My eyes were closed, but I knew him. 
I smiled; I slept. 


18 


PURGATORY 
The Angel 

Then you trampled upon hyacinths; 

Then you robbed the nest of a song-bird: 
Now, across endless waste and thorns, 
You catch, sometimes, a ghostly perfume, 
Or the whisper of a robin’s note, 

Lost—lost long ago. 

The Soul 

I ask not yet to be released from here. 
Only I pray Lord Sandalphon to have 
my tears in his keeping 
Till the time come. 


19 


FUGUE 


Will you take me with you, little river, 

If I build a boat, 

All the way to the sea to a big ship? 

Then I will sail far away, 

And come back a sailor, 

With my arms tattooed. 

Childhood is a hook of pictures; 

Turn not the pages too quickly. 

Take me with you, little river, 

To where the big waves roll in on the level sand. 
There I can lie all day, and dream, 

Of my life to come, 

Of many strange things. 

Youth is a golden dream; 

Disturb it not too soon. 

Could you take away my care, little river, 

And carry my pain and sorrow 
Out to the great deep? 

Somewhere there must be a place 
Where sorrows go, and can not return! 

Manhood brings a chain of sorrows; 

Let it not bind thy free spirit. 


20 


You are taking away my thoughts, little river, 
Out to the great unknown, 

Where this bowed form will follow soon. 

You speak of peace and rest, little river, 

After long waiting. 

Age brings the gift of peace; 

Lock it in thy heart till the end. 

Take me with you, little river, 

Back to my childish pictures; 

Back to my youth and its magic dreams; 

Back to the years of struggle and pain and con¬ 
quest : 

Let me remember all before I go. 

For Life's swift, wonderful pageant 
Give thanks to God on high. 


21 


TEARS ARE ALWAYS IN MY HEART 


Tears are always in my heart,— 

For men and beasts in pain, 

For hopes unrealized, 

For ideals fading into spectres, 

For the passing of beautiful things, 

For the long, cruel road, winding and perilous, 
For the tired faces of pilgrims, stumbling and 
toiling 

So far from home. 

At wayside shrines I stop and turn aside 
for a moment; 

For there I find the meaning of it all, 

With my face to the cross. 


22 


DIES ILLA 


Some day a flame will fall from Heaven 
Before you in your path, 

And in the flame steeds and a chariot; 

And silent, at the reins, 

One waiting. 

Fear not the trial of your soul: 

Fire burns not fire. 

Pause not before those leaping tongues; 

Mount to your place and whirl in brightness up¬ 
ward 
To the stars. 


23 


FOG 


And the Voice said: 

“Why do ye think to trouble me, 

Haunters of mist and gloom, 

Monstrous forms that shape and melt in the twi¬ 
light ? 

Your trailing, clinging curtains hide not my 
children from me, 

For they walk ever in my sight as in the clearest 
day. 

Yet a little while, and ye shall be no more— 

Shreds blown into the void, 

Forgotten. 

How can ye hope to trouble me?” 


24 


JOY 


Who can bear joy? 

Sorrow is a familiar face, 

Pale and worn, sometimes reproachful, 

At times with a kind, slight smile. 

We know you, dark lady. 

But who can bear the thrill and straining of heart¬ 
strings 

At sight of Joy’s radiant face, 

And sound of her ecstatic laughter? 

We are not attuned to Joy— 

Alas for our dull, voiceless souls! 

Pure laughter terrifies 

And a radiant face overwhelms us, 

So that we would fain flee and hide from the keen 
pain. 

Yet forget us not, rare Spirit! 

Leave us not comfortless. 

Send us Peace and mild Pleasure for our daily 
need; 

And sometime, somewhere,—purified, stronger, 
more serene, 

Our souls can meet thee unafraid! 


25 


AFTERTHOUGHT 


Did I bid you farewell yesterday, O Joy? 

But to-day I found in my garden a perfect rose. 


26 


THE LAST SECRET 


Someone has told you a secret, 

Lying there, with the flowers on your dress,— 
A wonderful, life-giving secret; 

Open your eyes and confess. 

You see, I cannot help thinking, 

As I look at your heaven-born smile, 

That you’ve come to this room and are resting— 
Just resting a little while. 

You closed your eyes this morning, 

But your spirit is still in this place, 

To offer me hope and salvation 
By that marvelous light on your face. 

Someone has told you a secret 
As you lay there, so still and white; 

But I need not wait for the years to pass, 

For I’ve guessed it, darling, to-night. 


2 7 


FEAR NOT 


Fear not: 

There is no void in the sky; 

The ether is friendly; 

Stars and worlds without number 
People all space, 

Unchanged through countless ages, 
Even as thou. 

Look up and smile, and be comforted. 


28 


IN THE CHANCEL 


I. The Chalice 

It is quiet in here, as in my heart; 

The noises of the street sound muffled and far 
away. 

It is good to be alone. 

Here is the chalice to be polished. 

How well I remember kneeling there for the first 
time, 

In my white dress, 

And touching cold lips to this cup! 

A bitter cup I have drunk since then. 

He said, “If it be possible let this cup pass from 
Me”; 

But it was held to His lips, and He drank. 

II. The Cross 

I remember when I could not have come here 
alone, 

When at sight of this symbol my heart recoiled. 

But I have changed since that time. 

Now, if it were a large cross, I could stretch out 
my hands across it, 

And lean upon its strong frame. 

29 


He felt the nails in hands and feet, 

The day-long fever and agony. 

But that was a torture He regarded not: 

Many a soldier in France has endured as much. 

What was His real suffering? 

Why did He hang there ? 

Why did He cry, “It is finished”—who knows ? 

I know only this: 

Were I to live past years again, 

I should choose to suffer as before. 

III. The Window 

I hear your voice in the silence speaking, Beauti¬ 
ful One: 

“Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy 
laden.” 

I know so little of you, but you know my inmost 
heart, 

Master! 

I falter, yet I come, Beloved! 

I shall find rest: receive me! 


30 


THE VALLEY 


I must go down. 

The valley is dark and terrible, yet lovely. 

The night wind brings me the sweet breath of 
the woods, 

Familiar and dear as the greeting of an old friend. 

But already the shadows are black, and the stones 
of the narrow path are wet. 

I fear lest my feet slip in the darkness. 

Hold my hand, Unseen One, as you walk beside 
me: 

I must go down. 


31 


ELIJAH ON MOUNT HOREB 


When I heard Thy voice I covered my face, 
For its gentleness flooded my soul like the sea’s 
tide. 

Even so gently moves the red rim of the sun 
Up over the edge of the world; 

So gently swing Thy countless, terrible suns 
Around the Pleiades. 


32 


THE TEMPLE 


Open the temple, guardian; 

Throw wide the bronze door. 

Draw back the heavy curtains from the sanctuary; 
Uncover all sacred things, 

That the throng may look in as they pass, 

With a shrug and a careless laugh, 

Or enter and glance heedlessly around. 

Shrink not, brave priest of a creed yet hidden, 
For at times will come a dusty wanderer, 

And enter for a prayer and a blessing. 


33 


A STAR 


I saw one suddenly this evening, 
poised in the East, 

Serene in the darkening sky; 

And there fell on the instant, 

Out of the void— 

Felt, not heard— 

One crystal tone, 

Sure as the note of a bell. 

Softly a hand was laid on my heart, 
And the haunting pain was gone. 

Surely it is well with the world, 
and well ever with me; 

For, across the infinite silence, 
has come a human word 
From a star. 


34 


SUNSET 


You are far away, Beautiful One! 

Countless millions of leagues across the ether; 
You are close at my side, 

Your hand is on my shoulder. 

If I will I may pass my days in the light of 
your eyes and the sound of your voice. 

Why do I forget ? 


35 


THE PROPHET 


You are with us again, Master, 

Back from your journey in the star-spaces. 
Somewhere, in a glorified body, 

You walk the earth. 

O priceless boon to find you! 

O gift peerless, transcendent, 

To touch the hem of your garment! 


36 


ELEGY 


We two were strolling idly through a little 
churchyard, 

Reading inscriptions on the headstones, 

Smiling at the “uncouth rhymes” and “shapeless 
sculpture,” 

In very gentle mockery. 

Then suddenly we came upon a new-made grave, 

A tiny one. 

Without a word we turned, and walked with 
bowed head 

Out through the broken gate. 


37 


THE SWIMMER 


There he lies. 

See how the green breakers tower and crash down. 
And reach up long, swift, caressing fingers 
To him they struck in fury. 

Draw him back. 

How superb he looks as he lies here, 

Like Hyacinthus or our own Shelley, 

Smiling, 

As after a mighty battle out there, 

And a life saved. 

Why does he smile? 

Is Death, after all, only a little thing? 


38 


THE UNNAMED 


I do not know your name, lofty Spirit; 

You are not the Christ, Redeemer, Saviour, 

But someone nearer our low earth. 

No one has told me your name, yet I have names 
for you: 

I call you Master, my Guide, my Hope and Peace. 

You are the Well-beloved, the Beautiful One, 

My prayer and its answer. 

And my heart hides tender names that my lips 
cannot speak. 

Earth does not hold for me that wondrous word: 

And yet, sometimes * * * 

O, can there be somewhere, on a far transcendent 
height, 

A speech sublime, whose accents once I knew? 


39 


LONE SAILOR 


I am alone and helpless, in a frail boat, on the sea 
of Infinity; 

I am terrified at the vast, silent reaches of water. 

Once I had a pilot; 

But he was a dream, and vanished away. 

And then another voyager came, and her little 
boat sailed close beside mine, 

Until, one night, a great storm carried her away 
in the darkness; 

And my heart and soul are gone with her, so that 
I long to die. 

Yet I cannot bear the thought of a plunge into 
those black depths; 

For she did not go that way, and I should not find 
her down there. 

No, I must cling to this pitiful craft, though I dare 
not hope it will carry me to her. 

I cry aloud: “What is to become of me? ” 

I will ask someone for help. 

Surely some being greater than I lives in this 
water or air; 

For sometimes the winds are gentle 

And the waves lap comfortingly; 

And then they seem to bring to me the scent of 
loved flowers, 


40 


And the sounds of dear voices I lost 
in some golden land long ago. 

I will pray to the Sylphs and the Undines. 

* * * * * 

Alas! their only answer is the wind’s moan and 
the wave’s weeping. 

I heard good words long since; 

Let me try to remember them: 

“The Lord is my shepherd”; 

“God is our refuge and strength.” 

—But words are mere sounds; 

They are dead things. 

To whom shall I call? 

—Let me think: 

Who was here before the sea came ? 

Where does He live, and with what words can I 
reach Him? 

But surely He who brought the sea needs no 
words to understand me: 

Surely He knows all things. 

He was here before the wind or the water. 

He is infinitely higher than the sky, 

Deeper than the ocean, 

Vaster than all spaces: 

I will cry to Him! 


41 


You, who know all things know love, 

And I have loved. 

But you, the vast, the mighty One, must have a 
love surpassing all. 

All love is yours, 

And love constitutes your whole being. 

You will take care of me; 

How did I ever fear? 

And love’s resistless force will draw me again to 
her, my lost one. 

* * * * * 

See, the pilot is at the helm! 

He has sat there always, but fear made me blind. 
HE gave me the pilot; 

I shall never fear again. 


42 


PASSING 


Sweetheart, I pray that we may cease to be 
The selfsame hour, and so enter the dark, 
Hand-clasped, to find the shore of the dim wide 
sea, 

Smiling and unafraid, and there embark. 

How could I fear to pass to the unseen, 

United thus with thee, my other life? 

For then, as now, no pain could be too keen, 

Nor could I falter in the fiercest strife.— 

Such is my prayer; but Death might summon thee 
To sail the black and silent tide alone. 

How could I look again on sky or sea, 

On Earth or human faces, wert thou gone? 

Yet peace! for clouds of death and misery 
Would glow with the radiant morning soon to be! 


43 


SYCAMORE 


I love your patchy trunk, Sycamore, 

Your ivory skin and ragged brown coat. 

Close at hand you are rough, some say unsightly; 
But at a little distance I see your beauty sud¬ 
denly,— 

Ivory, olive, brown and gold,— 

Strange, lovely motley,— 

Swaying a little in the breeze behind the leaf- 
shadows. 


44 


THE MIRACLE 


I was hurrying through rain at twilight 
On a shabby Harlem street, 

Glad of the dusky curtain hiding 
sordidness and squalor. 

Then suddenly- 

The odor of jasmine flowers, 

The call of a whip-poor-will, 

Water lapping a reedy shore 
Under a southern moon. 

* * * * 

Bewildered, I turned, and saw, 
in a dingy doorway, 

Four negroes singing. 


45 


GOD’S LIGHT 


At a touch of my hand 
this dark room is flooded 
With sudden, dazzling light. 

God’s light does not come in this way, 
But steals softly across the sky, 

Like gentle music. 


46 


TO A VERY SMALL BIRD 


When you sang just now you took me off my 
guard. 

What was there in that silken thread of song 
To bring quick-welling tears and old pain— 
Tiny notes so tranquil in a world so wide and 
perilous ? 


47 


TO A HERMIT THRUSH 


From what unseen choir have you dropped down, 
heavenly bird? 

Or who put the divine notes in your spotted 
breast, 

Little body in brown? 

Why do you hide your song away in the heart of 
the forest? 

Have They forbidden you to sing it in the haunts 
of men, 

Lest it fall on heedless ears ? 

Or have you hidden under the down in your nest 

A flower of the asphodel ? 


48 


LULLABY 


Brown dust of flowers, 
Ashes of mirth, 

Ghosts of glad hours, 

Sink into earth. 

When comes the wild blast, 
O, be not found! 

Go, dream of your past 
In the merciful ground. 

There, safe at last, 

Sleep sound! 


49 


A GARDEN SPIDER 


There you are, swinging in your web on the rose- 
vine! 

A thing of loveliness in gold and velvet, 

Clasping threads of silvery gossamer 

That holds a single rain-drop clear as a star. 

What do you dream as you hang in your frail 
hammock, 

Wrapped in odd perfume from queer little roses, 

And swayed by the light breath of morning? 

Stay with us tiny stranger! 

Fall not and perish in a strong wind, 

Or in an August torrent! 

O who shall hide you from the crash of thunder 

Or the keen knife of the lightning? 

Is it sacrilege to pray to the storm-gods to 
remember you? 

But thought of all this troubles you not: 

There you are this morning, swinging on the 
rose-vine! 


50 


THE BROOK LAUGHED 


After the rain the brook laughed: 

“See! It is I! Grown, grown! 

I leap, I run! 

I sing, I call, I toss my hair! 

I reach out my arms and touch thirsty grass with 
cool, moist fingers. 

See! Here I have made a pool for a pretty white 
fleet of ducks. 

Here I am filling a pond, where children may sail 
tiny boats. 

The frogs, yesterday so forlorn, gurgle thanks 
for the water I bring. 

Watch me jump over this mossy log in a cascade 
of emerald and pearls. 

Come play with me among bending rushes. 

Sing with me! 

Laugh with me! 

Run with me! 

Grown, Grown! 


51 


SEA-SHELLS 


You who draw down to darkness the white forms 
of ships, 

Tearing with jagged teeth their shapely hulls, 
Scattering upon the deep rich treasures,— 

Spices and silks, gold and precious stones,— 
Hurling to death, amid shrieking laughter, 

Men and weak babes, and the frail bodies of 
women,— 

Accursed monster!— 

Here on these quiet sands you have gently strewn 
A thousand gems, 

Of myriad hue and form, 

Wrought in beauty ineffable. 

Why have you done this ? 

Can a griffin be gentle, or a dragon kind ? 

Can the Furies love, or a demon play with chil¬ 
dren? 

* * * * * 

I fix my eyes on the Sage as I put the question. 
He is silent, with the answer at his lips. 


52 


BRONX RIVER 


An Inscription For a Picture 

You are not real, little river; 

You are a dream, 

And your glassy waters gleam 
With a light of some far Paradise. 

Here shadows quiver 

With a soft beauty strange to mortal eyes. 

You are not real, little river;— 

Am I a dream, too, 

Or a picture in a frame with you, 

Gazing into your waters forever ? 


53 


WINTER SORCERY 


One day we gathered berries in field and wood: 
Strawberries, heavenly sweet, from a sunny 
meadow; 

Blackcaps and raspberries from a pasture-wall; 
June-berries from a tree at the barred gate; 
Wintergreen, gleaming in the moss in a cool 
grove; 

And, from a ragged bush near a ruined house, 
Currants, white and red, with tears on them. 

All these we blended, conserved, and stored away, 
Amused at the absurd medley. 

One winter day we opened a glowing jar and 
tasted: — 

O wonderful! 

We smelled wild roses and the green, cut hay, 
And saw again the bees and butterflies! 


54 


WEATHER FORECAST 


To-morrow the gods will thrust 

across the sky 

Long, flaming swords. 

Then fire will touch all the 
little clouds to the west, 

And the garden of Earth will awake 
to color and motion and song: 
To-morrow, fair! 


55 


FALLING SNOW 


I hear a whispering in the branches of trees 
And among the twigs and brown, clinging leaves; 
The softest whispers ever known, 

But constant, persistent everywhere. 

When I try to catch the words 
they spread and scatter, 

And die into ghosts of sound. 

They are telling of things no man has known. 
There is sadness in the sound 
And mystery, 

And peace, and the hush of prayer. 


56 


AUTUMN 


I looked at the dim, dead faces of the flowers; 

I heard the lamentation of the wind; 

I felt from afar the chill breath of Winter; 
And my heart was desolate. 

I saw an old man plowing with a steady hand; 

I watched the sure, patient feet of the horses; 

I thought of the sowing of wheat for the Sum¬ 
mer’s reaping; 

And I smiled, and was comforted. 


57 


WONDERS 


At the edge of the wood just now came the old 
wonder : 

(Is it wise to speak of this?) 

The long swell of a mighty orchestra, 

Far away, a multitude singing, 

And the deep, slow sound of a bell. 

All was veiled by a near, familiar sound— 

The sighing of the breeze in a pine tree. 

So is it always: 

I hear from an infinite distance the myriad har¬ 
mony,— 

Song, laughter, children's voices, 

Instruments, organ tones, bells, all blended,— 
And near at hand, sounds of every day: 

A train passing, the babble of a brook, or the 
voice of wind or rain. 


58 


GARDENING 


Every day I work in my garden, planting, weed¬ 
ing or trimming, 

Reverently touch the slender stalks of the flowers, 
Transported with their ineffable scent and color; 
Absorbed in my peerless task, yet pausing now 
and then, 

Filled with the wonder of it all: 

Can it be I, the honored one, 

Working on the King’s garment? 


59 


SUNSET IN JULY 


Wild waving of the yellow heads of wheat, 

And suddenly a wailing cry from the trees 
To dim clouds flying to meet the night in the East; 
Then all at once, from the windows of the West, 
A flood of mellow gold, like God’s blessing, 

Rich, universal, transcendent. 

The wailing has ceased, and in the transfigured 
wood 

A thousand voices are singing. 

This is not Earth: 

Surely we have died, and live again on a new 
planet, 

To stand in this splendor, 

And breathe this air so pure and so serene! 


60 


TO A BIRD ON A CLIFF 


Strong wings furled and light body motionless, 
Why do you linger ? 

Commit your weight to the friendly air. 

Do not fear to fall in a void. 

The crystal ocean is waiting to bear you. 
Spread your wings, 

Sail off the ledge; 

Take flight! 


61 


BLOSSOMS 


The air is filled with apple blossoms, coming 
down, coming down. 

Rosy white they float about and settle on the 
grass, 

There to lie in all their beauty, waiting through 
the last hours, 

Breathing sweet farewell to sunlight, as the 
breezes pass. 

All my precious little pleasures fade away, fade 
away— 

All the dewy blooms that ripen just before they 
fall. 

Pearls are they, and jewels rare, too beautiful for 
human sight,— 

Passing, passing into dust that takes my heart and 
all. 


62 


LAZY CLOUD 


I love your languid ease, lazy cloud, 

Leisurely swan moving across the blue! 

As I watch you, I forget 

hurrying crowds and the day’s wild panorama. 

In your company I find my Self again, 

Fleecy cloud! 


63 


GRACKLES AT TWILIGHT 


Such a rasping and clucking and clacking and 
squeaking! 

The racket’s so bad I can’t hear myself speaking. 

Now the girls will all chatter and boys will all 
fight, 

For two hours at least, till we’re fixed for the 
night! 

There, Peewee, you needn’t be feeling so big: 

Keep to your own branch,—get away from this 
twig! 

Where’s Illy and Billy and Tootles and Jack? 

Lost my children—good heavens—they’ll never 
come back! 

Bessie Glossy has gone for a trip to the spring, 

And taken my husband, the mean little thing! 

See, there is old Rusty, asleep on that tree, 

He’s always as crusty and mean as can be! 

There’s Silky, who hatched out her family last 
Fall. 

Good gracious—her children are growing so tall! 


64 


Can nobody stop this uncivilized babble ? 

Stop, I say! I’m ashamed to be in such a rabble! 

Here’s my man, looking sheepish—I’ll not say a 
word 

Till I get him alone—feather-headed old bird! 

Mack, my love, find the little ones—there’s an 
old dear! 

And we’ll all settle down in the evergreen here. 


65 


THREE PRELUDES OF CHOPIN 


I 

Opus 28, Number 6 

September night wind wandering, 

Why did you come to my garden, 

Searching, searching? 

Are you seeking a Spirit that is flown, 

Far, far from here? 

Do you mourn for little souls passing, 

Passing this hour; 

And for the bare, desolate mounds that shall be? 

Strange September night wind, 

Why do you wander here ? 

II 

Opus 28, Number 7 

O, little white birch on the hillside, 

Softly singing 

To the May that passes light-winging, 

Your green robe, rustling, gleaming, 

Is wrapped about your dreaming. 

You are dreaming of bees and butterflies, 

Of warm June days, with crystal skies. 

66 


O, pure, perfect bliss! 
Would I knew such as this, 
Little white birch! 


Ill 

Opus 28, Number 20 

Somewhere out there, now far, now near, 
I hear the tolling of a bell, 

Heavy and terrible. 

It is beating upon my heart. 

O pitiless! O sublime! 

Is it calling me ? 

Tell me what it is saying! 


67 


BACH 


To Samuel A. Baldwin 
Noon by the clock! 

Sick with the clangor and the sordid glare, 

I turn from the busy street 

Into the twilight beauty of a church. 

Here I feel the clamor of my heart cease sud¬ 
denly, 

As a feverish play at the drop of the curtain. 

O blessed hour, if here in this Gothic peace 
Unseen hands wake the sacred organ pipes 
With strains of yours, great Bach! 

Here surely, among grey arches and pillars, 

Your spirit hovers, 

Drawn by the tones divine that rise to God 
As first from those hands long dust. 

Alas for him who knows you not, great master. 
For whom you have not raised the curtain a little 
On God’s halls! 


68 


OVERTURE TO OTHELLO 


On the edge of my father’s wheatfield grew two 
wild-rose bushes, 

One, a tall, sturdy sweetbriar, 

The other, a humble pasture-rose. 

I called them my little garden, 

And I visited them almost every day, 

To dream, and delight in their scent and color,— 
The sweetbriar with its rare, spicy perfume, 

Like odors from an oriental casket; 

The other, just rose-smell, the incarnation of a 
New England summer. 

Then came the end. 

Sparks from a passing engine set fire to the 
ripened grain. 

Death swept the field like a hurricane. 

His hot breath burned my roses to ashes— 

Ashes! 


69 


OVERTURE TO MACBETH 


You are walking at the wood’s edge where you 
plucked violets yesterday. 

Suddenly you reach the spot where they bloomed. 

You recoil in dismay giving place to horror; 

For the purple bed is trampled, and defiled with 
mud and stains of blood, 

And the delicate blooms are wilted and dying. 

You follow the round, scarlet stains; 

They lead you to a spring. 

Here too is blood, and trampled verdure. 

The spring is filled with mud; 

It will never run clear again; 

And in the brown water lies a white heron with 
a broken wing, 

Dying. 


70 


FILAGREE 


Tendrils of the wild grape, strange, elfin fingers; 
Purple network on petals of the white iris; 
Bright tracery of ice-crystals on gray flagstones; 
Melody of slender oboes woven through 
high, soft flute-notes; 

Network of the moon on little, ruffled waves; 

O, wordless prayer of a sylph incarnate in firm 
silver; 

Filagree, in my hand! 


71 


OPAL 


Strange stone! 

I see, as in a mirror, 

Azure, emerald, pearl,— 

My prayers, my hopes, my peace; 
And stars that float like dreams; and 
deep under all— 

O Spirit, sublime and terrible!— 
Fire! 


72 


FREEMASONRY 


I am humbly proud to-day, and warm of heart, 
For as I paused in the street a strange dog came 
And laid his cold nose in my hand. 


73 


THE PSALM OF FIDO 


Variations on a Grand old Theme 

Master is my keeper: I shall not want. 

He walks with me every day. 

He lets me lie down in green places, 

And eat grass, 

And cool my hot tongue in streams and pools. 

The sight of him cures my sadness. 

He leads me along paths of Paradise for our dear 
love's sake. 

I can walk past screaming motor trucks and roar¬ 
ing railroad trains 

And the fiercest dogs, and never feel afraid; 

Because the stick he carries is a great comfort to 
me. 


He feeds me crackers and cream and toast, 

And all the things I love best. 

He washes me with warm water and soap;— 

O, he does everything for me! 

Surely he'll take care of me all my life; 

And I’ll be his doggie in the next world forever. 


74 


REQUIEM 


Lie here, at the tree's foot, little sleeper. 
As you often lay by mine. 

Have no fear of the wind or the bitter cold, 
For kind old Earth will wrap you round, 
Just as my heart will enfold your image 
Through the years. 


75 


THE LEASH 


My little dog tugs at her leash, straining every 
muscle, 

Desperate, breathing hard, a tiny Hercules en¬ 
chained. 

And when I set her free she rushes madly ahead, 
A hundred feet or so—in a transport,— 

And then comes trotting, quiet and happy, 

Back to me. 


76 


A DREAM 


Can you understand? 

I dreamt that my little dog had become a child 
with silky hair. 

As I held her close my heart swelled, 

But it was breaking for the little form that was 
gone— 

Can you understand? 


77 


TO MY LITTLE DEAD DOG 


Wait for me, little treasure, 

Somewhere in the great throng on the other side 
of the gate; 

Or, if They carry you far, 

Think always of this house, 

And the basket where you slept, 

And the face of your master. 

And, when I come at last, 

Your perfect love will bring you back to my side. 

They are calling you now. 

Good bye, little traveler! 




78 


TO A YOUNG AIREDALE 


Once I had a charming puppy, 

All plumpness and softness, like a pillow; 

A little, warm bundle of eagerness, 

With silky paws and caressing tongue. 

Now he is gone, and in his place, 

Lo, you, ungainly creature! 

Loose of frame, shambling and wavering of gait; 
Just at the awkward age, neither pup nor dog. 

But soon your form will fill out to strength and 
symmetry, 

For you are of good family; 

And then you will learn to guide and use aright 
Those foolish legs! 


79 


A PRAYER FOR BIRDS AND BEASTS 


Lord compassionate, on this wild night 
Thou rememberest Thy helpless ones, uncared-for. 
Thou dost not forget dumb animals, mute suf¬ 
ferers in the storm: 

Lean dogs shivering in doorways; 

Patient work-horses standing close together 
In the keen wind and merciless rain; 

Homeless cats crouched behind railings; 

Winter birds huddled under eaves and cornices or 
in the evergreens in parks; 

Thou wilt aid all these afflicted ones 
That my powerless heart seeks out. 

To remote corners where I can not go, 

Into the blackness where I can not see, 

Thy messengers will pass, dear Lord, 

To guard and comfort these, 

Thy birds and beasts. 


80 


IN THE CANINE CEMETERY AT 
HARTSDALE 


Mock us not, stranger, 

Who have come to pay our tribute to little com¬ 
rades gone. 

You have not known the passion of love and 
devotion 

That once beat in loyal hearts laid here; 

Uplifted paws and soft, adoring eyes 
You have not known: 

Pass on! 


81 


A DOG IN A CRATE 


Such a long day! 

Master put me here and told me to wait for him. 
He has never failed me; 

I think he’ll come when it’s growing dark. 

How cramped and tired I am! 

He left me water and sweet biscuits,— 

The kind I like best,— 

But I have no heart for them. 

Rough men jostle this box as they pass; 

But some speak to me kindly. 

I will not bark or whine. 

A child poked a stick through the bars, 

But I kept my temper. 

A lady put in white fingers and I kissed them. 

I am nervous and lonely: 

Guess I’ll try to take a nap.— 

Such a long day! 


82 


SNOW BURIAL 


On the little mound underneath this tree 
Lay your white mantle, gently, gently; 

Only cover it not too deeply; 

Leave still a shrub or stalk outstanding here— 
Some dear, familiar mark! 


83 


TO MY NIECE 


After God made all shells and coral, 

And smooth morning-glories, the pink kind, and 
the blue, 

And brown corn-silk, and the lining of milkweed 
pods, 

And solemn little mountain pools, 

And the wonder of the singing birds, 

He made you! 


84 


TO WILLIAM BEEBE 


Sir, in our college days, 

Who read Herodotus or Marco Polo 
Without a smile, 

Or queer old Mandeville? 

But here are you, a man serious and earnest, 
Telling us tales more weird-fantastical 
Than feather-headed Marco ever dreamed, 

Or the grave Greek, 

Or any gaunt, fiery-eyed romancer 
Wandering in Araby. 

Our brains whirl, but we must believe you, 

A man so justly respected and esteemed, 

For you can take our childish hands and lead us 
To the borders of a land incredible, 

Where we may view uncouth, unearthly shapes, 
In dramas of beauty, comedy, and horror 
Beyond belief; 

And see vast landscapes of a hidden world 
Through a little crystal door. 


85 


TO CHRISTOPHER MORLEY 

Random Couplets 

A suburbanite on the Five-fifteen 

Sends greetings to Chris of The Bowling Green: 

All thanks to you, our daily friend, 

For giving us in charming blend, 

Comment, and quip, and maxim rare, 

With jest or lyric light as air. 

In ten minutes’ time on the homebound train 
You clear the fog from a tired brain; 

You relieve a tension nine hours long, 

And bring to the lips a forgotten song. 

Some Midas fills your pen, I think, 

While you are asleep, with golden ink; 

For our shimmering dreams that go floating past 
You catch in mid-air, and hold them fast. 

Stray stalks that the busy Reaper leaves 
You gather, and bind into golden sheaves, 

And thresh from a long-forgotten bard 
Much wheat, first quality, Number One Hard. 

For finding gems that most of us miss 

And handing them ’round, we thank you, Chris: 

86 


Ruby, and pearl, and amethyst, 

And moonstone, cool as a morning mist. 

Yet we're sure you can never be poor, 
For you find riches at your door. 

Rare old coins long hid in the dust 
You gather and clear from centuries' rust. 

Philosopher, poet, critic too, 

Evermore new success to you! 


87 


ORANGE PEKOE 


I am not drinking tea: 

Someone has led me to an eastern garden 
Filled with old dreams. 

Night falls. 

O strange! O lovely! 

Overhead purple steals into the blue; 

One star weaves a spell. 

I hear the gliding breeze, new-risen, 
Stirring the silken garments of the twilight. 
Darkness. 

From the flowers at my feet rise perfumes 
like whispers, 

While I catch, faint and far, 

Queer, high, chanting voices, 

And a slow temple bell. 


88 


LITTLE FOOTSTEPS 


The fairy form is gone that enchanted these dull 
rooms: 

But still there lingers here the sound of little 
footsteps. 

All day they follow me about the house,— 

Past every desolate door, and up the lonely stair¬ 
way. 

And oh, I feel, I know I shall hear them always, 

Through the years. 


89 


DOLLS 


As I pause before a glittering window I see 
A hundred little faces smiling, 

Filling all the space with warmth and glad¬ 
ness. 

Why do they smile? 

Because old, weary Earth is ever young? 
Or are they glad at thought of warm, chubby 
arms 

And soft, baby lips? 


90 


PICTURES 


Someone has finished an old song, and pictures 
are spread before me— 

Precious, tender, heart-breaking. 

I cannot look on the little faces now; 

My heart swells, and I turn away, but still I see 
them. 

Be with me, Master, in this dark hour; 

Pour into my heart the love of your tranquil 
smile,— 

Pure love, transcending all sorrow,— 

Til I can gather these up and lock them away. 


91 


THE MAGIC CASEMENT 


I am sitting at the window of my dreary room, 
Looking out on the shabby street. 

The sky is gray, and the rain is falling. 

But I see neither room nor street; 

For there is music in the sound of the rain; 

And in my heart is an orchard, with bees in the 
blossoms. 


92 


COINS 


Last year there was an old man 
Who came to me each day, 

And put a gold coin in my hand, 
And told me to lock it away. 

And some I stored, 

And some I lost, 

And some I gave away; 

And some I keep to light the gloom 
When comes a dismal day. 


93 


CINDERELLA 


Dance, little one, in these gay halls 
Rose-scented; 

Only stay not beyond the hour, 

Lest twelve strokes of the clock catch you un¬ 
aware, 

And black midnight, and misery. 


94 


THE THREAD UNBROKEN 


All night we watched the hot little face tossing 
on the pillow, 

Till quiet came with the morning, and the flush 
died away. 

“She will live,” the doctor said. 

Just then the brown eyes opened: 

“I was dreaming, Daddy. * 

I dropped Mammy’s yarn-ball, and it rolled, and 
rolled, 

Down the stairs, out on the street, 

Under automobiles and feet of horses. 

I held the knitting in my hands and followed. 

At last a Kind Man found the ball and wound it; 

And, oh Daddy, I was so glad 

The yarn didn’t break! ” 


95 


IN PASSING 


When I looked at you just now I heard music. 

I think it was the gleam of your hair as you 
turned your head, 

Or the curve of your throat— 

I cannot tell: 

Such things are marred in the telling. 


96 


WONDERFUL MOMENTS 


Sometimes a wretched fisherman of Yucatan, 
Roaming a desolate beach, 

Chances upon a formless, waxy mass 
Thrown in by last night’s storm. 

Then with fast-beating heart he turns it o’er, 
Joy in his eyes, hunger and grief forgot; 

For this is the prize sought in the dreams of a 
life-time, 

Bringing food, comfort, and cheer— 

Ambergris! 

Sometimes a ragged woodsman at his toil 
Lays bare with a stroke—a golden seven-years’ 
hoard 

Of woodland bees, 

And brings at nightfall to his ill-fed group 
The food of kings. 

A friend of dead Schubert, rummaging in a loft, 
Comes on a dusty, bulky manuscript. 

His eyes grow suddenly dim, and his hands shake, 
As he fumbles at the tapes. 

All at once there steals through the air in that 
still place 

Soft blowing of distant horns, 


97 


Then oboe and clarinet, serene, melodious. 

Next grows a fuller, richer harmony 
In chanting strings, while the majestic bass 
Beats quietly on. 

Now drums and trumpets join the wondrous choir, 
Raised to a strain triumphant, 

Gathering strength and majesty— 

Swelling, swelling, 

Flooding his soul, flooding the broad world 
In a new symphony! 


98 


THE FLIER 


Your thoughts are not ours, as you ride up there, 
Airman, 

Off the earth, 

Lost to us plodders, whose weighted feet creep 
slowly hither and thither. 

Is your soul free now, as your body is? 

For Wine, Glamour, and Gold dwell not in those 
blue spaces. 

Your soul asks nothing as you ride, 

But more space and new vistas, 

As you exult with pure laughter in the face of 
God. 

You are brother to His wind and His lightning, 
To rain, hail, and snow. 

Cloud glories are your dwelling-place: 

You are one with the sun and the stars, 

Airman! 


99 



GALATEA 


I am sleeping here, deep in the cold, formless 
rock, 

My marble body unshaped, unseen. 

But one day I shall rise from this place, 

And take form and beauty,— 

A statue! 

Then will come a new miracle— 

Wonder upon wonder— 

I shall be flesh, warm and bright, 

And I shall lift up my arms to the warm, bright 
sky,— 

A woman! 


100 


TIME 


Wandering tribesmen pitched their tents by the 
sea, 

And built a few rough huts,— 

The beginning of a little village. 

The settlement grew into a walled town. 

Slowly in its place, rose the ramparts and palaces 
Of the city of Dido. 

Carthage strove for power. 

Three centuries she fought the Greeks in Sicily. 
Then came long and bitter wars, 

Her death-struggle with Rome. 

Carthage fell, and was destroyed. 

Slow centuries lumbered past; 

She crumbled into dust. 

Just then Jove leaned from Heaven, speaking to 
one at his side: 

“By the way, what has become of the little white 
village by the Mediterranean? 

While we chatted it disappeared!” 


101 


AVIATOR TRIUMPHANS 


We give him medals and laurels, 

Banquets and tributes. 

With song, flowers, pomp, and pageantry 
We honor him; 

But all this moves him not, 

Passing among us with his gentle, absent smile. 

How lightly he walks, 

His feet touching earth, but not his soul, 

As he wanders silent here, with thoughts on high 
In the blue spaces! 

Speak not to him. 

Lest the dream fade out of his face; 

Let him pass. 


102 


THE PRAYER 


Shipwrecked, alone, sick at heart, 

My servant walks the beach, 

Searching in vain for shelter. 

Now he gathers driftwood and dry seaweed, 
And strikes a flint and steel. 

First, flying sparks, 

Then a thread of light, 

Now a little flower of flame. 

At last a steady spire, rising serenely upward, 
Piercing the infinite dark, 

(Though he knows it not) 

To the foot of my throne. 


103 


ON STONY MAN MOUNTAIN 


I A Wood Dove at Sunset 

Why does the Sun's gold fall on the wooded slope 
So gently? 

Why does the perfumed air pass my rapt face 
So lightly? 

What is the spell that has set my soul to dreaming 
So strangely? 

O Mountain Spirit, is it your voice that fills my 
heart 

So softly? 

II On the Peak 

I have lived for this hour: 

This is an end and a beginning. 

About me the air is purer than of Earth, 

And the sunlight strangely crystalline, 

Extending all vistas. 

I do not breathe and walk and speak as before: 
Just now my body was born. 

O rapt, thronging moments that know not the 
pulse of Time! 

My hour supreme! 


104 


HUMORESQUE 


My heart is a vane swinging in a veering wind, 
Now from the South, warm on my cheek, like 
velvet 

Or a woman's hand; 

Now quick and chill from the North, 

Sharp as a blade. 

My heart is a garden swept by changing odors, 
Sweet from roses, bitter from marigolds. 

No, not a garden! 

My heart is a hillside grove, filled with birds 
singing at dawn, 

When sight of a circling hawk throws the happy 
band into silence. 

My heart is a harp in the skillful hands of a 
minstrel, 

Now singing of home and peace, 

Now clashing with chords of battle. 

Heart, you are strange today—not my own. 

Wild heart! 

Are you a bird ? Are you spreading your wings ? 
* * * * * 

105 


O love pierced by grief! 

O dreams that float by and are lost! 
O strife! O blessed peace! 


106 


GODSPEED 


The Lord said to my soul: 

“Child, go thy way; 

It is time for the long journey. 

Go, but forget me not. 

“For my sake you will suffer. 

You will struggle against odds; 

You will strive and fail, and strive again, 

Toiling in the heat of the day. 

Yours will be pain and sorrow. 

You will die and rise again, not once, but many 
times. 

“Only, remember me; 

And when you cry aloud there will walk at your 
side 

One in a shining robe. 

Sometimes the air will float to you 
With perfume of strange flowers; 

And I will send seasons of pleasure and sweet 
peace. 

“You will see visions and dream dreams 
Unutterable. On your brow 
I will write my name. ,, 


107 


TO A. J. M. 


You live above the level of ill deeds; 

Your life is fashioned on the Master's plan. 
In every daily round you are revealed; 
You’re stamped and sealed 
God’s man. 


108 


THE LAST DANDELION 


What, little reveler, 

A laggard at the feast? 

Summer’s banquet is ended, 

And Sun’s warm wine is spent. 

Make haste to spin your floss 
For stern Wind, your taskmaster. 

Delay not! There’s a warning in the air! 
Hurry, lest frosty Death stay you, 

Your task undone! 


109 


THE EROICA SYMPHONY OF 
BEETHOVEN 


To Walter Damrosch 

Voices! Can you hear them ? 

Strange gods, speaking out of an infinite past. 

Pilgrims! Can you see them ? 

An endless passing throng,— 

Grave men, weary women, gay youths and maid¬ 
ens, dancing children. 

Drums! Do they beat upon your heart ? 

Fear not their message of death. 

O slender notes of the oboe!— 

Do you know them?— 

Soaring serene to Heaven like a prayer! 

Trumpets! Are they calling you? 

Far beyond, on some height resplendent, 

Silver throats crying, “Follow! Follow!” 

* * * * * 

O, little human heart, 

Afloat on the cosmic sea, 

Shall you find somewhere in the vastness 
God’s harbour of peace eternal? 


110 


TO S. E. J., AT HER PASSING 


For twenty years I knew you, 

Gentle and lovely soul, 

The spirit of the household. 

Busy with daily plans for others’ needs, 

Glad at our pleasures, saddened by our griefs, 
You dwelt with us. 

Through trial and sorrow I watched you, 

By patience and courage upborne, 

Steadfast in faith and trust, 

Since always, in the garden of your prayers, 
You walked with God. 


Ill 


TO A BOY SINGING IN CHURCH 


You sing you know not what, and from that 
wondrous throat 
Soars music not your own. 

And with that heavenly song a thousand hearts 
Rise to a realm of peace ineffable. 

O cease not! for your notes float like the perfume 
Of a censer swinging at the feet of God! 


112 


This is not a mountain peak, 

Nor even a hill crest, 

But the top of a little knoll, 

Where I find grass and shade and clear water . 

A pleasant spot! 

Yet I would not build here my hut of stone; 

Only pitch a light tent, and some fine morning, 
Up and away! 


113 


Mftf 


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